


With All That I Am

by Nerdofmanytalents



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Embrace the Tropes, Emprise du Lion, F/M, Fake Character Death, I love weddings - drinks all around!, Kidnapping, Pregnancy, Romance, This starts out as gratuitous fluff then turns into gratuitous angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-16
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-08-15 09:00:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8050216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nerdofmanytalents/pseuds/Nerdofmanytalents
Summary: When Maxwell Trevelyan becomes the Inquisitor, Evelyn still joins the Inquisition and falls head over heels for the Commander, and he for her.  The course of love never does run smoothly during wartime, however.  You never quite realize exactly how much you love someone until you lose them.  Will add tags as the story goes on.





	1. I Love You

**Author's Note:**

> This was... Definitely an exercise. I've never blatantly written something for my own pleasure, so I'm a little anxious about putting this out there. This is almost entirely written so I'm going to pace the chapters out kinda evenly over the next few weeks. It's not terribly long but hopefully will end up being at least a fun read.

Cullen nervously adjusted the collar of his shirt in the mirror, critically eyeing the image before him. Once again his eyes were drawn to the unusually fine attire; the blouse was a sturdy but feather soft cotton that probably cost as much as his last four normal shirts, with a lightly starched collar and loose fitting sleeves buttoned closed with simple silver cufflinks. He wore a deep red vest with lightly threaded gold embroidery--elegant but understated. The ensemble was finished off by well tailored breeches and sharply polished mid-calf boots. All in all, he couldn’t deny that while the look was definitely out of his normal style, he felt...good. Wholesome.

 

The fact that it was his wedding attire probably attributed to that significantly.

 

There was a small knock at the door, and after a moment, Josephine entered, her usual outfit foregone in favor of a more simply styled dress in the gold and cream colors Evelyn had chosen for the wedding theme, smiling enthusiastically as she made eye contact with him in the mirror.

 

“Oh good, you’re ready. Just in time; the Inquisitor has gone to fetch Evelyn; we need to get you down to the garden.”

 

He turned to face her, unable to keep his unusually lighthearted mood to himself. He grinned at her.

 

“Do I pass inspection, Ambassador?”

 

This drew a small titter from her, and she stepped forward to straighten simple kerchief in his lapel pocket.

 

“Indeed you do, Commander. You shall be breaking many hearts when we reach the Winter Palace later this year when the Orlesians see how very handsome you are, only to realize you are off the market. You do clean up so well, Commander,” she replied with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. She sighed, stepping back to examine him again. She seemed to pause for a moment before she spoke, her tone sincere and more open than she typically allowed.

 

“I...Cullen, I do wish to thank you for allowing us to be part of this. The two of you could have very well decided to elope to a roadside Chantry. I know this is a bit more fanfare than you would prefer, but when Evelyn asked for my help to plan this, I simply wanted to make this special for you.” Her expression darkened slightly. “For as many victories we may claim, we are at war. And it does all of us much good to see two people joining together in such a happy occasion. Especially when it is two people who mean as much to all of us as you both do. And the two of you are so clearly very happily in love with one another.”

 

He felt his face flush slightly at her compliments, moving to run a hand anxiously through his hair, causing her to tut and bat it away. He smirked at that, before sighing.

 

“No, you are right. I may wish to be, but I am not just the simple man I feel I am in my heart. My position as commander of the Inquisition’s armies has me at much a higher political standing than I may care to admit--even when you remind me of it,” he said with a wry grin. “And as much as I may complain to the void about it, I know that standing reflects on the Inquisition. It wouldn’t say much about us if I simply ran off with Evelyn and got married in a rush. This...this is a bit of an occasion,” he finished with a slightly breathless laugh.

 

“Besides,” he continued, “Evelyn deserves this and more. The least I could do is show the world that I intend to spend the rest of our days making her happy.”

 

“And I’m sure you shall,” Josephine replied, somehow procuring a handkerchief for herself and dabbing at her eyes. “Come. Let’s get downstairs. People are beginning to take their places.”

 

The two of them turned to exit the room, and as he stepped into the pleasantly warm midday sun, he looked down at the garden below; work had been delayed in the renovations to his loft, though the workmen assured him that the work would be completed today before he needed to get back there. As such, Josephine had arranged for him to get ready in one of the guest chambers above the garden.

 

The two of them made their way down to the garden, and he graciously accepted the congratulations of the few people permitted to attend the ceremony that had assembled. It was a reasonably small group, primarily members of the inner circle and a handful of personal friends from within the ranks of the Inquisition. After several minutes of conversation and good natured ribbing from Dorian and Bull, he saw Mother Giselle beckoning him over to the gazebo. Making his excuses, he headed over.

 

“Revered Mother,” he said formally, bowing his head respectfully at the chantry mother.

 

“Good day, Commander. The Maker has blessed us with such a fine day for our wonderful occasion.”

 

“He has,” Cullen agreed, surveying the garden that had been immaculately groomed and decorated at Josephine’s command. Evelyn would love it. “Thank you for agreeing to officiate for us.”

 

“It is my honor,” she said simply. “All of us are honored that the two of you would have us be here with you as you make your promises before the Maker.”

 

Moments later, Leliana glided over, wearing a similar dress to Josephine and a rare open smile on her face.

 

“They are ready. Maxwell and Evelyn are waiting in the great hall.”

 

Cullen’s eyes darted in the direction of the door, heart beginning to pound fast in his chest.

 

“Are we ready to begin?” Mother Giselle asked, and all he could do was nod.

 

Time suddenly seemed to be moving very fast; Mother Giselle called for everyone to take their seats, while Leliana gently ushered him into his final position beneath one of the gazebo’s arches. She gave him a soft kiss on the cheek before moving to retrieve her lute and once everyone had taken their places, began so softly play and sing a song he only vaguely remembered from weddings he attended as a small boy in Ferelden. Then as suddenly as it had sped up, everything just stopped.

 

Evelyn stepped out from under the deep shadows of the archways, the sun lighting up the feather-light veil they had placed in her fiery hair like a halo, and for a moment it felt like he’d taken a blow to the chest. Her hair was loose in those wild curls he loved, but someone had woven small white flowers throughout. Her dress was plain and strapless, (as was apparently the tradition in Ostwick, he had been informed by Vivienne at some point during the planning process), but it was overlaid with an almost sheer, long sleeved white jacket that flowed down the entire length of the dress, embroidered in the same patterns that were woven into his vest. She was clutching a small bouquet of flowers, arm threaded through Maxwell’s as he escorted her to Cullen’s side. She was breathtaking.

 

It was only once he realized he was beginning to get lightheaded that he realized he had forgotten to breathe. Maker, she was about to become his _wife._

 

Maxwell brought her to his side, kissing her cheeks lightly, before placing her hand in Cullen’s with a congratulatory smile and a nod. She was staring down at their joined hands for a moment, before she looked up at him, eyes impossibly bright with happiness. He couldn’t keep a grin off his face as she bit her lip in ill-contained excitement.

 

The rest of the ceremony was a blur, as his eyes never left her. At some point they exchanged rings, Mother Giselle spoke, then brought forward a red rope (the color of which he vaguely knew symbolized something but he’d have to have someone remind him the significance of it later). She wrapped their joined hands in an elaborate knot and spoke again.

 

He belatedly realized that he must have been asked something and before his brain could catch up, he managed a fairly unintelligent grunt of inquiry, drawing the most delightful laugh out of Evelyn.

 

“Well? Are you going to kiss me?” She asked softly, looking up at him demurely. He flushed slightly at his distraction, before recalling his part in the ceremony, and leaning forward to claim her lips in a passionate but fairly brief kiss. He pulled back and smiled down at her slightly dazed face.

 

“With this kiss between these two, I seal a blessing upon their union. Let what the Maker and his Bride have blessed, let no man tear asunder. May they watch over you through all your days,” Mother Giselle said. “I hereby declare you wed for all this life; may you dwell in happiness and prosperity.”

 

Polite applause and cheers broke out from their guests, and the two of them grinned, positively brimming with happiness.

 

“Oi, just kiss ‘er right, yeh?”

 

“Yeah, lay a real one on her, Cullen!”

 

At Sera’s and Bull’s prompting, he let out a short bark of a laugh, before looping his arm around Evelyn’s waist (his wife, _his wife_ ) and pulled her to him in a passionate, breath stealing kiss.

 

\---

 

The reception and buffet Josephine had helped them plan had significantly more attendees than their ceremony, but was still nonetheless a joyful event. An event that, if Evelyn was anything to go by, they would not see to its conclusion, judging by how she was less than stealthily trying to pull him out of the great hall. His heart was pounding hard, and her slightly tipsy giggles were like Chantry bells.

 

“Evelyn,” he asked, her enthusiasm drawing a laugh from him. “Are you sure we can just leave like this?”

 

“Yes,” she giggled. “It's a tradition in the marches; the bride and groom are supposed to sneak away without anyone catching them. If we get caught, we have to go back and dance. Or open a gift. I don't remember.”

 

She tripped lightly over the hem of her dress halfway through the solar, and she let loose another peal of laughter. He drew her close again, pressing a quick fiery kiss to her lips.

 

“Well, if you keep giggling like that, love,” he kissed her again. “We're going to-” again. “Get caught.”

 

He felt her smile against his lips, and he ran his hand up her back, fingers lightly tracing the deep vee of the back of her dress through the silky jacket.

 

“Or maybe we should just be quicker.”

 

He grinned, before scooping her up in his arms and crossing across the room to the door, forcing it open with his back. He hurried across the dark walkway to his (their, by the maker it was hers now too) tower, only halfway putting her down as he fiddled with the knob. Before pushing the door open, he leaned down again to kiss her before pressing his forehead to hers.

 

“Wife.” He said simply, heart clenching when her hand fisted in the material of his shirt.

 

“Husband,” she retorted, angling her head to press a soft kiss to his jaw. The action drew a distracted sigh from him before he grinned at her.

 

“I have a surprise for you.”

 

With that, he pushed open the door and carried her across the threshold.

 

“You got rid of the ladder!” She gasped as he placed her on her feet, rushing forward to examine the newly added wooden spiral staircase now taking up the corner. She hurried up a couple steps before peeking around the other side back at him.

 

“I figured this was a little better than a ladder. At least it's a little easier to get up,” he replied, glad she seemed to like it. She grinned at him before running her hand up and down the rail. After a moment, her face lit up.

 

“Wait, if you did this, then does that mean you--”

 

She cut herself off, racing up the rest of the steps until only the bottom of her dress was visible through the opening at the top. With a delighted laugh, she raced back down a few steps to look back down at him.

 

“You did! You fixed the roof!”

 

Her smile was infectious, and he quickly moved to join her upstairs. When he reached the top, it was just in time to see her pull the simple rope pulley that opened the trapdoor they had placed in the roof during the process of repairing the missing section. The action bathed her in moonlight, making the gold threading of the bridal overcoat glow, and the small white flowers in her hair look like stars. It took his breath away for what felt like the thousandth time that day, that this beautiful woman for some unfathomable reason has consented to be his wife. She was his.

 

“Oh…” She breathed softly, staring up at the newly exposed stars. “Oh, Cullen, it's lovely…”

 

He found himself drawn to her, sliding one hand around her waist as he pulled her hair off one of her shoulders and leaning down to press a light kiss behind the shell of her delicate ear.

 

“I’m glad you like it,” he murmured softly, smiling against her skin as he felt her breath hitch and her whole body shiver. “But I confess I have very little interest in the heavens above when I have a piece of it for my own right here.”

 

His words drew a breathless laugh out of her.

 

“Okay that was smooth,” she said with an audible grin, before gasping quietly and letting out a small whimper as he nipped her ear. Her hands flew to grasp his at their place around her waist before she turned in his arms and pulled him down to her for a tender kiss.

 

“It's perfect,” she said softly, raising one hand to cup his cheek, her thumb tracing the scar above his lip. “Our new home is perfect.”

 

His heart swelled at her words, and he closed his eyes as he was momentarily overwhelmed, turning his face to place a kiss to her palm. When his eyes opened again, they met her vivid green ones, with what he was a sure could only be described with a smolder.

 

“What would you have from me, dear wife?” He asked softly, and she smiled at him, before her eyes darted to the bed in the corner for the briefest moment.

 

“Love me?” She implored breathlessly.

 

And he did.


	2. I Ache For You

Cullen was experiencing a bout of restlessness the likes of which he hadn't experienced since the earlier days of his lyrium withdrawals. At first that's what he had thought it was, before realizing the usual accompanying symptoms--the chills and fevers, the shaking hands, the intense spikes of pain that could weaken his knees--were conspicuously absent. The closest thing he could relate the feeling to were those tense few weeks leading up to the disastrous blowout (literally) in Kirkwall. Cullen had always been a man that leant a respectable amount of credence to those “gut instincts,” but for the life of him he couldn't figure out what his gut was trying to tell him.

 

It didn’t help that Evelyn was gone from Skyhold and he missed her dearly. It had been just over a two months since they had made vows to one another in the Skyhold gardens, and the happiness they had shared these past weeks had been greater than he'd ever known. Their honeymoon to the Highever seaside had been brief but wonderful, and the ensuing weeks after they'd returned home had been filled with days of relative peace and nights of passion and happiness.

 

Unfortunately, they were in the midst of a war, and Evelyn’s magic skills were a tremendous asset to their foremost scouting teams. With the concerning rumors coming out of Emprise du Lion, she needed to get their camps established and gather intel so that they were not sending the Inquisitor in blind. Evelyn would never forgive herself if her brother were injured because she hadn't done her job.

 

From the two letters he'd received from her, the situation in the Emprise was even more unusual than they had thought and Cullen had to admit that she had been invaluable to her team. The sudden freeze and heavy fall of snow was extremely unseasonal, and Evelyn had told him in her letter that she theorized the phenomenon was magical in origin, especially considering that without runes to reinforce them, campfires and braziers were nearly impossible to keep going. He couldn't help but smile when she'd told him how much her team appreciated her ability to keep them all much warmer than they would have been otherwise.

 

He missed her. And he was frustrated that her latest letter was delayed and currently several days late. It wasn't unusual; it happened fairly often when she was out in the field. But it didn't mean he had to like it.

 

He drew himself out of his distracted thoughts as a runner entered the southern door, quickly reviewing the papers he offered--a simple report from the test results of the latest trebuchet calibration. As he signed it off and and dismissed the runner, he was surprised as Leliana entered from the east door.

 

“Leliana, had I forgotten a meeting?” He asked, standing from his seat quickly.

 

“I-no, Cullen, there wasn't a meeting. I wanted to deliver this personally.”

 

Her tone quickly set him on edge, and he quickly eyed the spymaster that he'd come to know this past year. Her posture was unusually open, and in her hands there was an opened missive from one of her ravens.

 

“Deliver what? Has there been an incident?”

 

“There has been. I'm sorry, Cullen, this just arrived from the Emprise.” She stepped in front of the desk and offered him the letter in her hands.

 

Cullens throat tightened, suddenly fearing the worst. So help him, if Evelyn was injured, he’d move the void itself to get her home. Maker forbid, what if she had been exposed to red lyrium? He reached across the desk and took the letter, opening it quickly. The fact that it was in what he was fairly certain was Scout Harding’s hand and not Evelyn's increased his trepidation.

 

_Lady Nightingale_

_The situation in the Emprise is far worse than we could have anticipated. The red templars are deeply entrenched and appear to be operating out of Suledin Keep, as well as conducting some sort of operation within the Saharnia mines. Red lyrium is rampant across the entire region._

_My team arrived two days ago to join Lead Scout Rutherford’s team but we were unable to locate the majority of them initially. A small group was located and reported that the first camp near the town had been captured with ease, but that the Lead Scout and her advance team had gone on to survey the cave system and suspected camp above two days prior and had not returned._

_We investigated the caves ourselves and found signs of a major skirmish and current red Templar patrols. Our ambush of a smaller patrol led to an interrogation where the red templars claimed that the advance team had stumbled into a red templar camp at the top of the cave system and that they had been eradicated. The red templars had… somewhat graphic things to say as to what happened to Lead Scout Rutherford and her team members. Unfortunately, we have found no survivors out of the advance team and have been unable to prove the claims false; we have only found a mass pyre and Evelyn's broken staff._

_I will continue to look for signs of any of the missing team, however, speaking frankly, it does not look promising. I will continue to relay information about the situation in the Emprise as soon as we learn of it._

_Please express my deepest and most heartfelt condolences to the Inquisitor and Commander Cullen. Evelyn was a member of my team and a personal friend. I cannot sufficiently convey my regret over this situation and on a personal note I will ensure that any red templars crossing my path will be shown no quarter._

_Lead Scout Lace Harding_

 

It took three times for the note to make sense and by the time it did, Cullen's hands were violently shaking in a way that had nothing to do withdrawals. He felt an icy chill race down his spine and had to lean heavily on his desk to fight off a violent wave of nausea. The letter from Harding was crumpled in one hand.

 

“How long ago did this arrive?” he found himself asking Leliana, feeling strangely detached from his own body.

 

“A half hour. I remained after receiving it only long enough to send missives to my people in the area to back up the scouting team and continue looking.”

 

He could feel his tenuous control on his emotions slipping. Taking a deep breath, he managed to look back up at Leliana.

 

“Has Ma--the Inquisitor been informed?”

 

“Josephine was with me when this arrived. She has gone to inform him.” She paused before reaching to cover his hand with hers in a gesture of comfort. “Cullen, I'm so sorry.”

 

Cullen swallowed hard around the lump in his throat, withdrawing his hand and gripping the edge of his desk. “Very well, Leliana, that… that will be all.”

 

She frowned. “Cullen, are--”

 

“Just leave, Leliana,” he snapped, initial glare fading at the sight of true remorse on her face. He gripped the desk harder to try to lessen his shaking. “Please. Just… just go.”

 

She hesitated a moment, between turning and exiting the door she had entered. The remaining silence in the office felt heavy and it took him a moment to realize that the labored breathing he was hearing was his own. Suddenly he snapped.

 

With an abrupt rage that even surprised himself, he let out a roar, shoving his desk mightily. It skittered unsteady over the cobbled floor before tilting dangerously on two legs, dumping all of the papers on the surface unceremoniously onto the floor. With a loud snap, the legs settled back on the floor, the desk righting itself.

 

In the next moment all of the rage was gone, leaving him raw and aching. The room suddenly oppressive, and his hands fisted his hair in a failing attempt to quell his rising panic. This couldn't be happening. This was impossible. Evelyn couldn't be… she couldn't…

 

With a perverse sort of curiosity, his mind calculated the travel time of their communications and realized that by the time he had received her last letter she was probably already gone. The thought caused a visceral stab of pain in his chest, weakening his knees and causing him to stagger back against the wall behind him. He slowly sunk to the floor, his surcoat and armor catching and scraping against the stone on the way.

 

With a poorly suppressed sob, he pressed the heels of his palms hard against this eyes. Moments later he jolted as he felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked up to find Leliana, her hood removed and in the process of kneeling down by his side. He felt the knee jerk annoyance of having his command disobeyed for only the briefest moment before he just felt overwhelmingly relieved that she had not left. The idea that he would be alone in this filled him with a sense of dread and he grabbed onto the comfort that Leliana was offering.

 

“Breathe, Cullen,” she murmured softly, one of her hands moving to gently rub the back of his neck. “Deep breaths, it's okay to let go.”

 

He furiously scrubbed at the tears blurring his vision before looking at her.

 

“Leliana, she’s…”

 

“I know.” Cullen caught the barest of breaks in her own voice and it triggered another harsh exhalation of breath from him. His throat tightened painfully and it took a few hard swallows to get words out again.

 

“I'm.. . I don't know know what to do,” he managed to wring out, pinching the bridge of his nose and trying to get better control of himself.“Maker, I-I shouldn't be-”

 

“Yes you should,” she iterated firmly. “Evelyn is your wife. This is what you should be doing. You have every right to this, it is not a weakness. You are allowed to cry.”

 

Her assurances dissolved the last of his resistances and with a full body shudder, he began to mourn.

 

\----

 

It took two days for exhaustion to overwhelm his grief, falling into a restless, nightmare filled sleep. He awoke sometime after midnight, sweating, aching and shaking with images of red blood on pristine white snow. His body protested as he hauled himself out of the bed, unable to muster the energy to pull on more than a simple tunic and breeches before making his way across the battlements to the keep.

 

The great hall was silent as he crossed and as he entered the garden courtyard he pointedly ignored all but the entrance to the Chantry ahead of him. He pushed the door open and to his surprise found he was not alone.

 

Maxwell had turned from his seat in one of the pews, startled by Cullen's abrupt entrance. Cullen felt a small pang in his heart at the sight; The younger man’s hair was disheveled, and his eyes were rimmed red.

 

“I--my apologies, Inquisitor, I didn't mean to intrude.”

 

“Oh, not back to the titles I hope, Cullen. I had hoped I'd at least get to keep you as my brother after this. I’d hate to lose you both.”

 

In any other circumstances, his flippant tone would have piqued Cullen’s ire, but he had come to know Maxwell Trevelyan well enough that he recognized it for what it was.

 

“No, that’s...You still have me, Maxwell,” Cullen responded quietly, slowly walking into the Chantry and sitting down on the pew next to him.

 

“It's a wonder you’d want anything to do with me at all,” Maxwell muttered, leaning forward with his eyes closed, forehead resting on his clasped hands. “This whole thing is my fault.”

 

Cullen frowned. “How could this have possibly been your fault?”

 

Maxwell sat back up a bit, rolling his eyes, scoffing bitterly, looking down at the glowing green mark on his hand. “How is it not? She went out there to get it ready for me; she was sticking her neck out every time she went out there, and I just let her. What kind of coward does that to his own sister?”

 

“This isn't your fault.”

 

“Isn’t it?!” Maxwell turned to Cullen, suddenly frantic. “Isn't every damned life we've lost since I fell out of the Fade my fault? How many people buried in the snow at Haven, how many lost at Adamant? How many people have died fighting for the so-called Herald of Andraste? How many letters of condolence have you written to the families of the dead, Cullen? And for what? For me to hang back like a coward waiting for ‘the right time,’ while everyone else stands in the line of fire? My sister is dead, Cullen. Your wife is dead, and it's because of me.”

 

Cullen must have flinched, because immediately Maxwell quailed.

 

“Maker, I'm sorry Cullen, I didn't mean…”

 

Cullen waved him off, leaning forward on his elbows and pinching the bridge of his nose to hold off the sting of tears in his eyes.

 

“You're fine. I just… I haven't said it out loud yet.”

 

“Void, Cullen, I'm sorry, I'm the worst sort of cad.”

 

“No, it'd be said eventually,” he said softly, looking ahead at the statue of Andraste standing at the front of the Chantry. “We all have different ways to cope. I… I'm not so self centered that I don't realize you're going through the same thing.”

 

Maxwell scoffed darkly. “I appreciate the thought, Cullen, but Makers balls, you just got married. You should hate me.”

 

It felt like a vice was tightening around his chest, and he leaned his forehead against the back of the pew in front of him, eyes closed as he took deep breaths.

 

“No, Max, I don't hate you. Besides the fact that you've done nothing to deserve it, I love Evelyn far too much to ever be able to hate you.”

 

Maxwell didn't seem to have anything to say after that. They sat in silence for a long moment.

 

“I wrote our parents today. They're… not going to take it well,” he finally said with a watery sigh. “Mother especially. They already lost her to the Circle once.” He looked over at Cullen. “They're looking forward to meeting you, you know. They were upset about not being able to come to the wedding. They were going to try and make the voyage at the end of next spring. Probably still will; they'll still want to meet you. Evelyn was the baby, and you made her happy.”

 

Cullen's heart clenched again, though he didn't move from his position, forehead still pressed to the pew as he stared down at the floor.

 

“Did I really? Because Maker, I can't think of a single thing I did for her that she didn't pay back tenfold. What on this earth did I have to offer her? She deserved better than a lyrium addicted ex Templar with nothing to his name. How could she have been happy with that?”

 

“You can't be serious, Cullen.” Maxwell’s indignant tone drew Cullen's attention, looking back up to see the man staring at him aghast. “Cullen, Evelyn was happier with you than I'd ever seen her in her life. No, I'm serious,” he insisted as Cullen's expression was doubtful. “Evelyn… she loved you, Cullen. Everyone could see that, from the day she met you back in Haven. And Maker, you'd have to be blind to not see how you worshipped her. And that was no less than she deserved.”

 

Cullen's reluctance to believe must have shown because he continued.

 

“Did she ever tell you about what she told me on your wedding day? I went to go get her to bring her downstairs, and Vivienne was helping her put all the little flowers in her hair. And she was a nervous wreck. She told me… that she was so scared that all this was a dream, that she couldn't be certain this wasn't some temptation from a desire demon. That it was too perfect and that it didn't seem possible that every little dream that she'd had to abandon when she went to the Circle was coming true.” Maxwell laughed self deprecatingly. “Of course, my way to snap her out of it was by asking if she was excited for the great sex you two were going to have that night. She gave me a good zap for that, I'll tell you.

 

“Cullen, I know my sister. And she loved you with all she was. Don't… don't doubt her like that. It's not fair to her, and it's not fair to the man she knew you to be.”

 

Cullen found himself clinging to the words as they ever so slightly eased the guilt and pain he had been wrestling with since he had read that horrible letter. He again rubbed furiously at his burning eyes before letting out a slightly frustrated sigh.

 

“Maker, I'm going to tear Samson throat out with my bare hands,” he said, earning a snort from Maxwell.

 

“I'll allow that, but only if I get a shot at him after you're done. If there's anything left after you're done with him, that is.”

 

Cullen snorted bitterly. “I can't promise there will be. Having known Samson as well as I did… what the man has done it unforgivable. And while I was dedicated to our cause before…well, I'm not a good enough man to claim I won't be happier for every red templar we put down. I am not above calling it vengeance.”

 

He glared pensively at the floor again for a moment, before he felt Maxwell reach to clasp his shoulder.

 

“The demons will run with a righteous man like you at their tail. It won't make it better but we'll make them pay.”

 

“Thank you, Max.”

 

“Don't thank me now. We still have to tan Samson’s hide,” he quipped weakly.

 

“Samson is a dead man walking and has been since the second his men laid hands on Evelyn. He just doesn't know it yet.”

 

\----

 

Cullen and Maxwell decided not to hold a funeral or any sort of official memorial. With no body, any such ceremony would be a failed attempt at a level of closure that neither felt they would ever have. Still, those who had known her gave tribute in their own ways, most frequently in the form of gifts or flowers left near the gazebo where Cullen and Evelyn had been married, or outside the door to his office. Cullen tried to ignore them each time he passed.

 

Despite being busy, every day dragged like an age. Some days he could almost forget in the midst of the busy work, but those invariably led to the nights where he fled the loft they had for so shortly called a home. On the days that felt normal, it was too easy to feel like he was simply waiting for Evelyn to come to bed, and he would awake only a short period of time after drifting off after a quick onset of terrible nightmares.

 

He tried to hide how badly they affected him. They were worse than they'd ever been, becoming twisted bastardizations of the memories that had haunted him for years. Evelyn dragged out as a victim in Uldred’s rebellion, Evelyn culled by Meredith's madness, Evelyn sliced open by a terror demons claws as the sky tears open above. His imagination gave him no respite either, conjuring pictures of her held in Samson’s gauntleted hands as he drew a blade across her throat, or the worst one yet, himself caught in a fit of rage only to come to himself with her speared on his blade, his own red, lyrium tainted glare reflecting in her eyes as her inner light died out.

 

The absolute worst were the dreams where nothing was wrong. The dreams where Corypheus was defeated, where he and Evelyn bought a small farm in Ferelden. The ones where she sat on the front porch teaching a small blonde boy to read, or ones where she stood humming in the kitchen, swollen with a babe, afternoon sun lighting her up like she were the sun itself as she brushed their daughters hair. She was healthy, happy, whole, alive, in that impossible land of dreams, and those were the ones he could feel slowly eating away at his soul. Maxwell had found him sobbing and inconsolable in the Chantry after one such dream, and he had been too broken to even feel ashamed as the other man had led him up to his own chamber and forced a sleeping draught on him.

 

Still, he tried to hide it, less for his own sake and more for those who he knew worried for him. He accepted the occasional draught from Vivienne to aid his sleep, he accepted the horrifically burned cookies from Sera. He allowed Dorian to coax him into almost daily chess matches and he didn't mind that Cassandra was almost present every time he went to pray. He appreciated their caring, truly, but he hated that it felt like everyone was walking on eggshells around him.

 

So he soldiered on. He trained with the troops daily, he attended war table meetings. He groused about attending to nobles. He inspected and calibrated Skyhold’s defenses, and personally assigned the guard rotations as he always had. He ignored the whispers of the visiting court about the handsome widower (only two months you say? How positively romantic and tragic, like something out of an opera), and he ignored how even his own men eyed him cautiously when discussing the eventual assault on Suledin Keep.

 

The assault had become his passion. While objectively he knew that Adamant had been far more difficult, he embraced the challenge it presented and had made it his personal mission to excise every red templar from the region with extreme prejudice. He was grateful that they had allowed him this; he was not sure what he might do if they tried to curtail this small piece of consolatory comfort.

 

A month after receiving her letter, Cullen was surprised one morning to find Scout Harding walking into his office.

 

“Commander,” she said formally, saluting.

 

“Harding, I wasn't aware you had returned. And there is no need for such formality. You know that.”

 

The dwarf relaxed her stance somewhat, but still looked tense and uncomfortable.

 

“I appreciate that, Commander. I… I wanted to apologize in person.”

 

He felt a somewhat weak smile cross his face. “Maker's breath, Harding, not you too.”

 

Her returning smile was equally weak. “I know you're probably tired of it, I know. But I feel…” She took a deep breath. “Evelyn was my friend. And if I had been there two days earlier, I might have been able to do something.”

 

His heart went out to her. “Harding, you cannot shoulder the blame for this any more than I can. I… I've had everyone assuring me of that fact in regards to myself, but I don't think you have. This wasn't anyone's fault but our enemy.”

 

Harding nodded quickly, and seemed to be blinking away tears. Clearing her throat, she reached into her pocket, stepping towards him.

 

“I wanted to bring this to you myself. I know you gave it to her as a gift and she loved it. I didn't want it to get lost.”

 

Cullen held out an open hand and Harding placed a large bright purple crystal in his palm. His fingers closed around it; he could feel the magical warmth of it through his glove.

 

“The foci from her staff. I thought you said it had been broken.”

 

“It was. The staff itself was in splinters, but one of our other mages helped me extract the stone. I'm sorry it's not more.”

 

“No, Harding, it's…“ He trailed off, looking down at the stone in his hand. “It's perfect. I appreciate you saving it.”

 

She nodded, before smiling tiredly. “I'm here a week before deploying to the Graves. But I'll be there when you go to the keep. I won't miss it.”

 

“I’ll be glad to have you there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hoping to have the next section posted by Friday or so. :)
> 
> Thanks for stopping by! Reviews, comments favorite parts and questions are all welcome. Favorite parts give this author life.


	3. I Long For You

Only two days before their troops were prepared to march to the Emprise, they received word that a massive storm had blown into the Frostbacks, leaving Sahrnia and the surrounding region nearly inaccessible. The news made Cullen restless, hating the idea of sitting idle when they were finally ready to move. It had been barely three months since Evelyn and her team had been ambushed, and personal vendetta aside, he did not like leaving the red templars unchecked in the region. The nearby town of Sahrnia was clearly in a bad state and clearing out the templars would improve the situation drastically.

 

The delay, however, forced Cullen to look at his planned assault on the area in a slightly different light. A small, less broken part that still remained within him regretted that he had become so jaded that this assault on his former order had become so viscerally rooted in revenge. Objectively he knew it wasn’t healthy and on another level, it wasn’t the level headed objectivity that a commander should have. But the part of him that had broken, that part that gaped from a sucking wound caused by the loss of his beloved couldn’t be brought to care. 

 

Several days of delays turned into a week, then a week into a fortnight. By the beginning of week three, he was irritable and short tempered, often finding himself driving the training sessions with his men much harder than he normally would allow himself. Finally, word came in that the roads had cleared enough for their troops to make their way into Orlais, and almost four months to the day that Evelyn had left Skyhold for the last time, Cullen mounted a horse and led his men on to Emprise du Lion.

 

\---

 

Cullen surveyed the map of the area on the table, mentally going over tomorrow’s strategy for any last minute unforeseen possibilities. The whole region was just as miserable as Harding’s reports had said it was, and he was eager to get underway. 

 

“Are you sure this is the way you want to go?”

 

He looked up as Maxwell entered the tent, before looking back at the map.

 

“Yes. After speaking with the villagers about the suspicious behavior in regards to the mines, it confirms my beliefs that it is imperative that they be reclaimed as soon as possible. A two pronged attack at both the keep and the mines will cause confusion within their ranks, giving us an advantage.”

 

“Are you sure you want to be in there yourself, is what I was asking, Cullen,” Maxwell replied softly, walking forward to stand at Cullen’s side, picking up one of the map markers and rolling it in his hand. “No one would fault you if you directed this from afar.”

 

“No.” Cullen’s tone was firm. After a moment, he sighed, leaning hard against the table. “No, I...I can’t, Max. I...I need this. I will lead the the majority of our troops into the mines while your strike team cuts the swathe for the rest to secure the area, as you have done before in Crestwood. With luck, we’ll have the red templars cleared out quickly and with minimal losses.”

 

He could feel Maxwell’s gaze on him and he did his best to remain firm. Eventually the Inquisitor sighed, setting the marker down again before lightly clapping a hand on Cullen’s shoulder.

 

“Very well. I’ll confirm with my team and call it a night. Try to get some sleep, Cullen. Evelyn would kill me if you managed to get hurt tomorrow.”

 

Cullen allowed a brief if somewhat weak smile. “I will try. Sleep well Maxwell.”

 

Maxwell retreated, and after a few minutes, Cullen sighed deeply, extinguishing the lantern within the tent and stepping outside to make his way to his own. He keep his pace slow despite the biting cold, passing by the evening patrols as they huddled around each of the braziers to warm themselves. He paused briefly at the field shrine to Andraste, offering a small prayer before finally making his way to his tent.

 

Once he entered, he stiffly removed his armor. He didn’t want to admit it, but the heavy concentration of red lyrium in the area was sending his own lyrium withdrawals into a relapse. His very bones ached just from proximity to it. Tomorrow would be a challenge, from how the mines were clearly overgrown with the stuff. He lowered himself onto his cot, settling himself under the blanket and staring up at the top of his tent in an attempt to calm his thoughts.

 

Being here was...harder than he had anticipated. It made Evelyn’s absence more real, and he hated it. He hated the snow, the blasted cold. He hated that her last moments had been taken from her by a maddened templar in this lyrium riddled landscape. He hated the shrieks of the dragons across the canyon. The whole place was the worst sort of hell he could imagine, and he couldn’t wait to be done with it all. 

 

Cullen let out a deep sigh, rolling on his side. He hated that she wasn't here with him. Knowing that this was the last place Evelyn had been was possibly driving him to madness. It was all too easy to pretend that she would just...reappear, that any moment she would slip through the tent flap and hurry under the blankets with him. She would press her frigid feet to the backs of his knees as she had so many times back at Skyhold, before giggling and warming their bed with a small burst of magical warmth. It felt so tantalizingly possible that he was forced to admit that perhaps he was beginning to break down as everyone had feared he would over the past months.

 

Maker it would be so easy to just go down with these blighted templars, to end this all… 

 

He forcibly shook the dark thought away. Such things were bad luck to dwell on the night before battle. And he knew it was unworthy of him. He had dedicated himself to the Inquisition before he had ever met Evelyn, and if he was nothing else, he was a man of honor and he would see this through to its end. And besides, he thought with a smirk, Evelyn would tan his hide if she knew such thoughts ever crossed his mind. 

 

He sighed again, before reaching down into his pack and pulling out the stone from Evelyn’s staff. He returned onto his back, turning the stone over in his hands, the outline of it glowing faintly in the darkness of his tent. He could do this. Tomorrow they would strike a huge blow against Samson and Corypheus. And they would continue to do so until they had managed to set things to rights again. He owed it to himself to see it through. He owed it to Evelyn.

 

Morning was a long ways away. 

 

\----

 

Cullen hissed as the field medic removed the vambrace from his arm and began tearing away the jacket and shirt arm to examine the wound. He knew it wasn't deep, but with so much red lyrium in the area it was critical to make sure the wound was clean. He was not about to have a setback in his recovery, not when they were finally making strides against their enemy. 

 

This whole day had been… well it had certainly been _something._ If he was honest, he had relished the violence of battle more than he normally would, and a part of him was ashamed of the perverse sense of pleasure he had gotten out of each red Templar he took down. He was missing the collected calm he normally employed in battle, and he could only partly blame it on the itch and ache of being near the red lyrium. But could not blame the lyrium entirely for his actions, no. Not when each man felled to his blade was imagined as the one to put his blade to Evelyn. 

 

He took a deep, calming breath as one of his men stopped at his side, saluting formally. 

 

“Report.”

 

“The southern narrows within the mines have been secured, ser. Our men have taken positions on the scaffoldings and are making final patrols to flush out the last of the red templars.”

 

“Have any more of the villagers been found?” He asked, gritting his teeth as the medic muttered an apology as he cleaned the wound. 

 

“Some, though not as many as we'd hoped, ser. One of the other medics is examining them for lyrium corruption and other injuries. Anyone cleared will be escorted back to the town by one of our patrols as you ordered.”

 

“Good. We found several civilian fatalities as part of this… mining operation they've had here. The lyrium corruption of them is too far progressed; we will have to dispose of the bodies safely to prevent the spread. See if any of the remaining villagers can identify anyone for the families before we begin the pyres. The same applies to any persons found in such a state from the rest of the mines. Keep them separate from the red Templar remains.”

 

“Of course, ser.”

 

Cullen looked down at the map on the makeshift table before him as the soldier departed; their scouting teams had done well and it was far more accurate than he had hoped. What could have been a very dangerous situation had actually turned in their favor and allowed them to strategize around their enemies with minimal casualties. There was no sign of Samson however, which soured his mood somewhat. Unless the Inquisitor’s team had come across him in the keep, revenge against the red templar general would have to come another day.

 

“Commander! Commander Cullen!”

 

He looked up to see Scout Harding hurrying down the ravine. His heart sped up in worry. 

 

“Harding. Is everything alright? Is the Inquisitor alright?”

 

The dwarf came to a running stop at his side. “The Inquisitor is fine, he captured the keep almost an hour ago. It's not that, it's Evelyn!”

 

His stomach dropped before lurching uncomfortably. It was just as he had both hoped and feared. They had found her body. 

 

She must have seen the dark turn his thoughts took, because she dropped formality and grabbed onto his uninjured arm. “No no no, Commander! Cullen, she's alive!”

 

It took a long moment to comprehend her meaning. 

 

“What? I… Harding, I don’t understand,” he said around a tightness building in his throat. 

 

“Evelyn is alive.” Her eyes were bright and she smiled somewhat shakily. “She's definitely worse for wear but she is alive, she was being held in the keep. The Inquisitor is bringing her back to camp right now.”

 

His whole body locked up as he tried to process what she was saying. It… Didn't seem possible.

 

In the next moment, he was rushing up the hill, ignoring the medic’s protest that has arm wasn't bandaged yet. He cursed as he tried to hurry through the winding narrows and snow out of the mines. He reached the edge of the camp in time to see Maxwell hurry in from the other end of the camp from the direction of the keep and duck into the medic tent carrying a red haired figure in his arms. His heart leapt into his throat. 

 

He rushed across camp only to get cut off by Varric. 

 

“Woah, hold up a second, Curly-”

 

“Was that-”

 

“Yeah, but hold on a minute, let the medic take a look at her first, she's in a bit of a bad way,” Varric said quickly, sidestepping quickly as Cullen tried to go around him. 

 

“I need to see her.”

 

“I get that, but it's probably best to give them a few minutes to patch her up. It's… probably better you don't see her like this right away.”

 

The implication as to her state of being caused his temper to flare, and he could feel the leather of his gloves creak as his fists clenched. 

 

“Void take you, Varric, let me pass! I will see her and if I have to knock you on your arse to do it, I will not hesitate. Now move, or so help me--”

 

“Cullen!” Maxwell suddenly leaned out of the tent, eyes quickly finding Cullen. “Varric let him through, we need him.”

 

Cullen didn't wait for Varric to fully comply, quickly shoving past to make his way into the tent. His heart stuttered painfully as he pushed back the flap. 

 

Maker's breath, it truly was her. Evelyn was _alive._

 

She was on her side on the cot within the tent, one of their mage healers examining her injuries. She was unconscious, her hair a tangled dirty mess, robes dirty and torn. Her face was pale and smudged with grime, a half healed cut across her cheekbone and a dark bruise at one of her temples. 

 

He staggered forward, falling to his knees at the head of the cot. His hands were shaking as he tentatively touched her shoulder, as though afraid the motion would make her disappear.

 

“What happened?” he rasped, unable to take his eyes off her. He gently moved to cradle her head in his hands, running a thumb along one of her brows, stopping just shy of the bruise. 

 

“I don't know.” Maxwell’s voice was equally hoarse, his arms uncharacteristically wrapped tight around himself, making him look years younger. “We cleared the keep, and as our people were moving in to secure the area they found her in some of the cells.”

 

“Was she awake?” The healer spoke up, drawing Cullen's attention. She was magically heating a small basin of water and wetting a cloth, before handing it to Cullen to wipe Evelyn's face. 

 

“I-I don't know,” Maxwell stuttered. “They came to fetch me as soon as they found her, but she wasn't awake when I got there. I brought her straight away.”

 

The healer nodded, frowning before looking up at Cullen. “Commander, I need to use my magic to probe and see of she has any internal injuries--”

 

“Do it,” he said, glancing up from cleaning the dirt from Evelyn’s face to watch the mage place her hands on Evelyn’s side. His trepidation grew when her brow furrowed. 

 

“What is it?”

 

“I can't… this doesn't make sense, my magic is negating as soon as it enters her body. I've never had this happen before.”

 

“She’s…. Not looking good,” Maxwell said with concern. “She's looking paler than when they brought me, and she's starting to shake.”

 

Cullen had noticed the same, his worry escalating as he could tell the healer was getting more anxious.

 

“What's going go?”

 

“They knew you were coming.”

 

All three conscious occupants of the tent jumped as Cole was suddenly there, stepping forward and setting down several handfuls of herbs on the table next to the healer. Maxwell frowned, stepping forward to examine the herbs. 

 

“Cole, what…”

 

“They knew your were coming and gave her these. Samson told them to, if they lost the mines.”

 

“Witherstalk, deep mushroom…” Maxwell named the herbs off, looking up at the healer who looked equally baffled. “I think this one’s Amrita Vein, and is this…dragonthorn?”

 

Cullen blanched as he recognized the combination. 

 

“We need to empty her stomach,” he said quickly. “Immediately.”

 

Maxwell looked up at him in alarm. “Is it poison?”

 

“It may as well be,” he growled, gently sliding one arm under Evelyn’s shoulders and gently sitting her upright. His heart wrenched as she groaned softly; Maker, her weight in his arms was different, she felt so fragile. “It's magesbane.”

 

“I've never heard of it,” Max said, stepping aside as the healer moved around him. 

 

“It's…. Not exactly something widely talked about outside of the templars. It’s a potion of sorts that serves to sever a connection to the Fade,” Cullen said quickly. Evelyn was upright but still not conscious, leaning against his chest as he moved to support her on the cot. 

 

“I was not aware that was a real thing,” the healer said from where she appeared to be mixing some sort of toxic across the tent. “I always thought it was a rumor spread by apprentices to make the templars seem more intimidating than they were. It always seemed a bit silly to me--if there were such a thing, the templars would be unnecessary.”

 

“It's uncommon enough that that's not surprising. It works differently than Templar abilities. Rather than simply temporarily severing a connection to the Fade, it serves to make the body react violently to any sort of connection, including dreaming.” Cullen frowned. “Magesbane would truly affect any person who dreams, but it's borderline toxic to mages, especially in high quantities. I've... I've only seen it once or twice. We need to get to the out of her.”

 

“Here,” the healer spoke up, coming over with an empty basin and a tonic she had just finished. “This will make her purge. Lean her over the basin so she won't choke.”

 

Cullen gently adjusted Evelyn against him, winding an arm around he middle. Suddenly he froze. 

 

“She's pregnant,” he blurted in surprise, hand frozen over the gentle swell of her stomach. How had he not noticed? 

 

“I know,” the healer said quickly. “But if the magebane is as bad as you say, she needs to get it out of her. The tonic won't do any harm. Help me get her to swallow it.”

 

Somewhat numb, he followed her directions in helping Evelyn down the tonic. As she began to retch, he tried to ignore the painful twist and ache as she shuddered with each expulsion of the magebane from her stomach. Every movement invariably drew his attention to the soft distention of her belly. Eventually it seemed all of it was gone, leaving her shivering violently in his arms. 

 

Maker, how had this happened? It was too much to process. He had barely just seemed to come to terms with her being dead, and yet here she was, _alive._ She was pregnant. He wasn't an expert by any means but he knew enough to know that she was far enough along that… Maker, had she known before she left? 

 

“Is she going to be okay?”

 

Cullen looked up as Max spoke, realizing that the younger man had retreated to the corner with Cole at his side. His eye was were wide and he looked about as shocked as Cullen felt. 

 

“I think so. Barring any effects of the magesbane, she seems alright.” The healer put her hands on Evelyn’s side again and gave a brief magical pulse. “I’m not getting blocked any longer; I can't sense any injuries internally with my magic, and everything else looks superficial.”

 

“What about…” Cullen swallowed hard around the lump in his throat. “What about the babe?”

 

“I… I'm not sure,” the healer said apologetically. “I'm a field medic, not a traditional healer. I can't sense anything wrong but that doesn't mean I haven't missed something. I can send for a midwife, but with how hard Saharnia has been hit it might take a while.”

 

“Is she safe to move? Can we take her home?” Max asked softly. 

 

“I think so. She… She needs rest. And to keep warm. And definitely something to eat. But I feel confident that she'll pull through. I'm sorry I can't do more.”

 

Cullen shook his head. “You've done… more than enough. Thank you…” he trailed off as he suddenly realized that he didn't even know the healers name. 

 

“Enchanter Emmeline. And it's nothing, sir.” she got to her feet, moving to exit the tent. “I'll let you be for a bit; I'll come by later to check on her.”

 

Enchanter Emmeline stepped out of the tent, leaving the space tense. Cullen found himself lightly stroking Evelyn's hair, disbelief still making his heart pound painfully. This didn't seem possible. 

 

“Max, am I losing my mind?” He finally asked hoarsely, not looking up from the vision of his wife in his arms. 

 

“Not unless I am too. Maker, Cullen this whole time…”

 

Cullen's eyes squeezed shut tight as he thought about it. She had been in this hell hole for _four months._ She had been _pregnant_ this whole time, alone and at the mercy of these blasted red templars. He was lucky the magesbane seemed to be the worst of it. 

 

After a few heavy moments, Max spoke again. 

 

“I'll… I'll step out and take lead. Cassandra can take over at the mines and I'll finish up at the keep.” For once, Cullen didn't even think about protesting. “Will… will you send for me if anything changes? Or if she wakes?”

 

“Of course.”

 

Max stepped out, leaving Cullen alone with a miracle from the Maker resting heavy in his arms, the secure warmth of her (finally, _impossibly_ ) in his arms again bringing an almost numb peace to his mind and eventually lulling him to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was originally gonna be posting this as two chapters and hold of on finding her, but I'm weak and I also hate short chapter updates myself, so I decided to combine the two. We're in the home stretch here for the main story, and then we'll have a super saccharine epilogue.
> 
> Comments are a concentrated shot of happiness for the author!


	4. I Found You

Cullen was dreaming again.

 

It was that same dream he'd been having for months, phantom memories of those precious mornings with Evelyn cuddled in his arms. The memories he cherished in the moments before consciousness truly set in and he was awash with warmth and contentment.

 

This… this one was so vivid. Maker, he could smell her, feel the weight of her in his arms, feel the tickle of her hair against his face. And… and he could heat her talking.

 

“....am truly alright, Max, please, I can wait until he wakes. The healer won't even be back until after she finishes her rounds, there's no need to wake him just yet.

 

“And… you're really alright, Gigi? They didn't… I mean…the healer said she couldn't tell, but it's been long enough--”

 

“Oh Max, no, I…. No, they didn't…. Didn't do that. Mostly they just ignored me.”

 

Slowly his senses began to clear, and with an sudden moment of clarity, he was aware that this was not a dream. He was laying on a cot, and impossibly, the weight in his arms was his Evelyn. His hand reflexively clenched in the blankets draped over her middle, and he felt her turn slightly in his arms.

 

“Cullen? Are you awake?”

 

He swallowed hard around the thickness in his throat, eyes still screwed shut. “Evelyn?”

 

In end other circumstance, he would have been embarrassed by the way his voice broke like a young boy, but it was irrelevant as, as soon as he her name left his lips, her hand was suddenly on his cheek. His eyes finally opened, and his breath caught as he found himself mere inches from his wife’s smiling face.

 

“Cullen. Oh I missed you.”

 

Such simple words were his undoing. ‘I missed you.’ As though she had merely been away on a mission, and not forcibly ripped out of his life only to come back from the dead as a miracle four months later. With a dry sob, he suddenly pulled her close, burying his face in the crook of her neck. He ignored the uncomfortable pinch along the edges of his armor, too intent on feeling her. A second sob came when her arms came around him as far as they could in their awkward position. It opened the floodgates and he could no longer fight the burn of tears in his eyes.

 

With shaky breaths whispering her name, his hands roamed along her form, drinking her in. Her narrow shoulders, the tangle of long curly hair his hands kept getting caught in. Maker, he missed her. Eventually his murmurs turned to reverent but feverish kisses along her neck and face. As his hands wandered over that new swell of her stomach, his feverish thoughts slowed, and he pulled back looking down at her now flushed face.

 

He opened his mouth to speak but suddenly found that there weren't any words to express the tumultuous emotions still flooding him. She reached up and cupped his cheek, brushing away the lingering wetness on his face.

 

“It's okay. I'm okay. Don't fret, my love, it's alright.”

 

He laughed weakly, returning the motion and lightly running his thumb over her cheek.

 

“You… are you alright? Are you hurt? You were in the keep, and-and the magesbane…”

 

She reached to brush some of his curls that had come lose away from his eyes. “I'm alright. Much better now that I'm back… now that you're here.” A frown crossed her face, and his heart stuttered at the sight. Her thumb traced under his eye where he knew the dark circles of exhaustion had practically become a permanent feature. “Maker, Cullen, you haven't been sleeping… I'm sorry, love.”

 

He closed his eyes, turning his face into her hand. “It's alright. It doesn't matter now, Maker, you're alive, Evelyn, nothing else matters now.”

 

They sat there in silence, each soaking up the presence of the other. Eventually his hand trailed back over her belly, slowly repeating the motion.

 

“You… you're pregnant,” he said simply, still not quite believing it.

 

“I… I am, aren't I?”

 

He smirked weakly, looking down at her stomach. He looked back to her face after a moment, slightly anxious as he moved to trace the bruise on her temple.

 

“You're truly alright? You and the babe? They… they haven't…. Did they harm you?”

 

She scowled, glancing away. “I'm fine. I was telling Max, they mostly left me alone. This is from trying to fight off the last dose of the magesbane. They were a little short tempered, with the Inquisition at their doorstep. They… they haven't hurt the baby. Our baby.” She reached to clutch his hand, smiling up at him. “We’re going to have a baby. ”

 

“Did you know... Before?”

 

“No. I hadn't even missed by courses by the time I left. We weren't exactly planning on having a baby anytime soon.” She bit her lip. “Is… is that okay? I know… I know with the war against Corypheus and the rifts and all of that-”

 

He silenced her by pulling her into a kiss. Once she had relaxed in his arms, he leaned back to press his forehead to hers.

 

“Maker's breath, Evelyn, you've come back from the dead and are carrying our child. I can't think of a single way in the world how I could be anything but ecstatic. And I am going to thank the Maker every day for the rest of my life for bringing you back to me.”

 

He pressed another gentle kiss to her lips, before nuzzling her nose. “In the meantime, we are going to go home. And you're going to see the midwife and we'll make sure the baby is alright. And I am going to show you every bit of pampering you deserve for the rest of our days.”

 

She smiled up at him. “That… that sounds wonderful. We're going home?”

 

“We're going home.”

 

\---

 

Evelyn watched as Cullen moved about to direct the troops from her position on the wagon. She sighed, snuggling into Cullen's mantle that he had insisted she wear to help keep herself warm, smiling to herself. She had been plenty warm with the two blankets and cloak she had already been provided, but she could tell he was still on edge, and she could not fault him his caution and coddling. Still, him across the camp dressed in just his armor and tabard was decidedly odd.

 

“Feeling cozy, Gigi?”

 

Evelyn looked up as her brother came up to the wagon, hopping up and sitting next to her.

 

“Quite. Everything squared away?”

 

“For me, yes. I did my part of the job. Go in, stab things, wave my green hand around. Now I get to sit back and relax while everyone else does the work to get us back to Skyhold.”

 

She smiled wryly. “You say this, and yet I know you. You're normally one to try and do everything yourself. Such laziness is not in your nature, Maxwell.” She looked back towards her husband, briefly meeting his eyes as he finished speaking with one soldier, before he broke the contact as another approached him. “He asked you to keep an eye on me.”

 

The awkward squirm he gave was all the confirmation she needed, and she pulled the blankets closer around her.

 

“You don't need to, you know. I'm safe now. We are with our own people.”

 

Maxwell sighed, before digging his hand under the blanket to seek hers. She squeezed it.

 

“I know. And he knows. And we're not trying to be overbearing. But… Evelyn, as far as we knew, you were dead. You must forgive us is we are a tad on edge.”

 

“It's not overbearing,” she reassured. “I just…I can see you're both still hurting. And I wish I could help. I truly am alright.”

 

The two of them sat together quietly, and she slowly rubbed his hand warm in reassurance, still watching Cullen as he worked. She gave her husband a smile each time he looked back at her across the camp.

 

“He didn't handle it well.”

 

She looked back to Maxwell as he spoke, to find him watching Cullen. She swallowed around the lump growing in her throat, releasing Max's hand and looking down at her own.

 

“I… I can tell. What… what happened?”

 

Maxwell sighed, leaning back against the side of the wagon.

 

“He destroyed his office. And you can probably tell, he wasn't sleeping or eating well. He was…. He was trying. But his heart wasn't in it. This siege was what was keeping him running.”

 

She twisted her hands in the blanket. “I…. The lyrium, I can't tell, my magic is still weak….”

 

“No, thank the Maker. It… it might have been close, but he didn't want… he didn't want to disappoint you.” He looked over at her. “A lot of what he said kept him going was for you.”

 

Evelyn tried to tamp down on the tightness in her throat, but failed, letting out a small whimper. Maxwell balked.

 

“Nonono, Gigi, don't cry! Shit, it's okay! He's okay! Don't cry!”

 

She let out a watery laugh, rubbing her eyes. “Don't tell me what to do. I'm pregnant, I’m allowed to cry whenever I want.”

 

He let out a laugh of his own, before reaching and pulling her into a hug. She returned it enthusiastically, and she didn't comment when she heard him sniffle. After a long moment, he pulled back, clearing his throat, looking down at her with a sheepish look, his eyes still a bit bright.

 

“How's that working out for you? You alright? Really?”

 

“I'm fine,” she said firmly, reaching to ruffle his hair. “You’ve asked me 63 times. I will feel a bit better after speaking to a midwife, but I am fine. I just…. All I want is to go home. I want to go home, I want to rest, and I want to spend time with my husband while we get ready for our baby.”

 

By the time she finished speaking, she had moved to rest her hands on the small swell of her stomach, hardly noticeable in the borrowed mages robes she'd changed into. She slowly rubbed her hands over her belly. After a few moments, she smiled down at her lap.

 

“I'm going to have a baby.”

 

Max laughed again. “Yes, I heard that's what happens when you're pregnant.” He looked down at her belly as well. “You're going to be a mother. That so weird.”

 

“What's weird?”

 

Evelyn looked up as Cullen came over, smiling wide.

 

“The fact that I am to be a mother, apparently.”

 

“Ah,” Cullen said simply, moving to stand next to the wagon. She was treated to a small smile as he reached to cup her cheek. “Well I happen to think it's wonderful.”

 

She leaned into the touch, before leaning down to press a kiss to his lips. She then smoothed away a lock of his hair that had escaped its style.

 

“You look cold.”

 

“And you look wonderfully warm, my dear. Which is as I will have it until we get you safely home to Skyhold,” he quipped. She smiled again as he absently fussed with the blankets in her lap. “I won't ask how you’re feeling, I'm trying not to mother you.”

 

“It's good to be mothered,” she reassured, bumping her forehead to his affectionately. “And I promise I am still well. Max has been keeping me company, just ask you asked.”

 

She giggled softly as he flushed and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. He looked to Max, who gave a shrug and a wry grin. Cullen sighed playfully, reaching to squeeze her knees through the blankets.

 

“I apologize for not being sorry for my concern. In any case, the first company will be ready to depart momentarily. We will be riding with them, with Lady Cassandra leading the second company shortly after. The mountain pass is still clear so we will be home soon. Max, will you be with us or staying behind?”

 

“I think I shall stay behind,” he said, giving Evelyn a peck on the cheek and hopping back off the wagon. “See you at Skyhold, Gigi. Cullen.”

 

She waved him off and once he was out of sight, she sighed softly, scooting got the edge of her seat and wrapping her arms around Cullen's shoulders. His own went to circle her waist and he buried his face in the crook of her neck. They stayed there for several minutes.

 

“Commander, we're ready to move, ser.”

 

Culled away as one of his men approached, and nodded to the man.

 

“Very well. Give the order to move out. I'll be riding with my wife for the first leg should anyone need me.”

 

Evelyn beamed as he moved to climb in the wagon with her, immediately opening her blankets and adjusting them around both of them once he was seated. She snuggled happily into his side as his arm came around her.

 

“Thank you for riding with me, Cullen.” She mumbled quietly, breathing in his familiar scent, her whole body practically aching in relief after their long separation of the past few months. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, before testing his chin there.

 

“Of course. I wouldn't have it any other way right now, Evelyn.” His free hand came around to take hers, both of them resting against her stomach. “You should rest. We've a long way to go today, but home is less than a week away.”

 

She hummed contently, the gentle rock of the wagon and his warm, comforting embrace lulling her into a drowsy stupor. Within the next few hours, she was asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay! The past couple months have been a very emotionally trying period and I've been a mess. Reviews are greatly appreciated if you enjoyed! Thanks!


	5. With All That I Am, I Love You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An epilogue, of sorts.

The sooner this night was over, the better.

 

Cullen resisted the temptation to tug at the collar of his dress coat, practically feeling Josephine’s eyes on the back of his head. He had been drilled by both the advisor and his own wife that he was to be on his best behavior for the duration of their visit. Apparently “best behavior,” included not fussing with his clothes, leaving him feeling like he was a young lad again, being scolded by his mother for fidgeting in Chantry services.

 

So far, they had been at the Winter Palace for nearly an hour, and so far he had been propositioned by no less than four masked members of the Orlesian court, and they hadn’t even made it out of the entry gardens yet. Josephine, Leliana, and himself had arrived earlier to ensure that their people were in position, and to do...whatever it was two ladies needed to do to prepare for their part in the evening. Maxwell had yet to arrive “fashionably late,” with the Grand Duke, as they were technically his guests for the evening. All in all, this waiting did not bode well for his patience in the coming hours.

 

As he eyed the members of the court from his position near the fountain, he sighed ruefully. As much as he had no love for Orlais, he had to admit that the Winter Palace really was a sight, even if it was a bit opulent for his personal tastes. He wished that Evelyn had been able to attend, as she had occasionally commented that she had wondered as a young girl at the Circle what attending a ball would be like. Unfortunately, as she was far progressed in her pregnancy, the idea had been tabled, so she was resting for the evening at their ally’s guest estate, enjoying what he hoped would be a relaxing evening. He had been reluctant to leave her side, especially with her recovery from her abduction only a few months behind them, but it could not be helped.

 

As it was, he was waiting for Gaspard and the Inquisitor to get here; the sooner they did, the sooner they could get underway. And the sooner they did that, the sooner he’d be getting back to his wife.

 

Just as he was about to give in to the temptation to ask Josephine how much longer they were expected to wait, there was some sort of mild commotion at the entrance, and the murmurs he was overhearing from the nobility stated that the Inquisitor had arrived. With a small relieved sigh, he moved to greet Max, but stopped in his tracks when he unexpectedly spotted Evelyn at his side.

 

Maker, she was a sight. She was smiling and nodding politely as the Grand Duke spoke to her, her styled red curls and ear baubles shining in the evening light. She was dressed in a soft ivory gown with gold underskirts, synched with a dark blue sash tied below her bust in the same color as the military sash he wore across his chest. The whole thing was made of some sort gossamer type material, the drape beautifully accenting the swell of her pregnant belly. A matching ivory gold shawl was around her shoulders. In his eyes, she looked like a goddess, and for a moment, he was struck dumb.

 

As Maxwell began speaking with Gaspard again, Evelyn looked away from their host, only to meet his eyes across the crush of the Orlesian court. With a brief touch to her brother's arm, she excused herself and made her way across the courtyard to Cullen, a beautiful flush on her face. When she reached his side, she curtseyed as low as her pregnant belly would allow. 

 

“My Lord Husband.“

 

Throwing what he knew of propriety to the wind, he stepped up to her side, arm sliding around her waist as his other hand grabbed a hold of hers and brought it to his lips, earning some sort of scandalized titter from a nearby noble. Heart swelling, he looked down at her. 

 

“You’re here. I thought… your confinement…”

 

She smiled, a more controlled version of her usual wide and open grin, but still tinged with her signature mischief. “Yes, well… Josephine and Leliana came up with a plan for me that was better than simply waiting for all of you to come home in the wee hours of the morning. I...may have wanted to surprise you when they approached me about it, so I asked them not to tell you.”

 

He frowned. “They gave you a task? Evelyn, I won't have you in danger.”

 

“And I shant be. My job… is to be at your side.” At his clearly confused look, she continued. “Josephine realized that my… condition, could be an unspoken advantage to us in the court. The fact that the Commander of the Inquisition would allow his wife to breed in such a time communicates a confidence in our eventual victory.”

 

Cullen was about to protest that that didn't make any sense, but paused when he realized it sounded… terribly Orlesian and that she was probably right. Despite his misgivings, however, he couldn't bring himself to be upset. Evelyn was here. Suddenly the night seemed much more bearable. His hand gently squeezed her hip. 

 

“I suppose I shall have to do my best to appear the doting husband. Am I allowed to be the doting husband? I would much rather do that than deal with all this lot.”

 

She let out a small snort, before hiding it behind her hand. The action prompted an unabashed grin from him. 

 

“You are allowed. Obviously our purpose in attending the ball stays the same, but perhaps with me here to entertain you it won't be quite so arduous to bear the eyes of the court.”

 

“Oh I see, I am to be wrangled then.”

 

“Not...wrangled!” She laughed, looking up at him. “But… perhaps I can offer some sort of incentive to keep you on your best behavior.”

 

He smiled pressing another kiss to her knuckles. “Very well then. I shall allow myself to lured by the carrot. I will not look the gift of having my wife's company for the evening in the mouth. Not that you are a carrot--Maker’s breath, woman I didn't mean it like that!” He quickly corrected at her mock indignant look. “I merely meant… let me start again. You look radiant, Evelyn. I am...very happy you are here.”

 

She grinned wide. “Thank you, Cullen. I can only hope to be a fitting match for the dashing Commander tonight. I was so disappointed when I saw how handsome you were to look and I was going to miss it. Did you know your reputation precedes you? I had been informed by no less than three people on my way in that the Commander was to be the catch of the evening.” 

 

“Well I don't know about that, but I am… very glad you are here,” he replied, before letting his hand drop to rest on her belly. “You'll truly be alright tonight? You are feeling well?”

 

“I feel wonderful. I will be here at your side the entire evening, making you look confident and virile, and you can focus on doing all the things the Commander of the Inquisition needs to do while attempting to foil an assassination attempt. But… perhaps you could save a dance for me tonight?” She asked softly, looking up at him with a soft smile.

 

“Of course, my dear,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to her crown. “Yours is the only attention worth having.”

 

“Flatterer,” she scolded lightly, before her attention was drawn to Maxwell and Gaspard across the courtyard. “They’ve signaled to enter the ballroom. May I have your arm, husband?”

 

He stepped away enough to offer his arm formally, with a small playful bow. She took it with a small giggle, and as much as this evening was far from a leisure activity, he was thrilled that he would be able to spend the night with his wife, doting on her in every way that he could. And as he led her into the ballroom, as the evening went on and he could overhear the not-so-subtle whispers and tittering from the court, he felt so incredibly blessed to have her at his side. It had been a rough year, not in the least because of the Inquisition’s military and political endeavors. But having his wife at his side, having her at his side after having lost her...being able to take her out on the ballroom floor where they both stepped on one another’s feet and broke into poorly stifled giggles… Yes, he’d deal with Orlais every day if it meant he could keep that smile on her face. This was his life, this was his wife, whom he loved with all that he was. And always would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah man. This was an adventure. Here you have it! My very first *COMPLETED* story. It started out as a gratuitous exercise and all in all, I'm quite pleased.
> 
> Let me know what you thought! Thanks for stopping by!


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